Beneath Armani's feet is a broken and splintered door, and the moment he approaches the dark opening, he's blasted by the stiflingly hot air from the room beyond. Atmospheric charms, Audrey had said, keeping the tunnel cool — or perhaps, once upon a time, icy cold.

A deafening, lonely silence permeates. The nearer he gets, the more his eyes take in subtle details of the room beyond. Poured cement walls and floor, shelves and old cardboard boxes, a pinball machine. It looks just like where they'd come from, before. The only difference, really, is that familiar vines climb up the walls and hang from the ceiling.